The Singularity
by impossibilitiesandmiracles
Summary: Surprisingly it wasn't stopping the end of the world that was hard. It's what came after. Now that they have some time to themselves Aziraphale and Crowley battle with domestic bliss and 6000 years of pent up celestial angst. Lucky they have each other. (Cross posted on Ao3)
1. Snake in the grass

**Chapter 1: snake in the grass**

At the last it bites like a serpent and stings like a viper -Proverbs 23:32

Life was…actually pretty great right now. Crowley thought so anyway. And he knew that it was a dangerous thing to say out loud (what with the universe and all it's funny tricks) but he couldn't help but feel that everything was going to be fine. Better than fine—it was perfect.

Aziraphale and Crowley had fallen into a sort of routine. They would spend the days feeding ducks or reading, well, Aziraphale would read and Crowley napped, and they'd go out to dinner or get take out or sometimes Crowley would cook. And to put it simply, it was all very much domestic bliss. Crowley had even brought some of his plants over to Aziraphale bookshop (though he had quickly realized he would not be bringing any more because Aziraphale had this horrible habit of _encouraging_ them and telling them they grew beautifully).

Anyhow, yeah, as long as the universe wasn't listening, life was absolutely perfect the way it was at this exact moment. For the first time in a very, very long time, Crowley was happy. Genuinely, truly, completely happy.

"Angel!" Crowley called from the couch. Aziraphale popped his head in from the front of the store.

"What can I do for you, my dear?"

"My wing hurts," Crowley whined, lowering his sunglasses so as to better tempt Aziraphale into coming over here.

It wasn't a complete lie. His wing was rather sore for some reason, but definitely not anything new, and definitely nothing that required angelic attention. None of this, of course, stopped Aziraphale from frowning and quickly coming over to see what Crowley was whining about. Oh the reliability of angels.

"Where does it hurt, dear boy?" Aziraphale asked.

Crowley gestured vaguely to the spot where his wing met his back and rolled over so that Aziraphale could reach. He sighed happily when he felt the gentle hands begin to rub his aching muscles. Honestly it was nothing too bad, but it felt two hundred percent better with Aziraphale tending to it.

(It's worth noting too that Crowley has relatively high pain tolerance—he's just an attention addict.)

"Does this feel better?" The angel asked.

"Definitely," Crowley mused. "It's hard for me to do it myself, what with it being all the way back there."

"Of course," Aziraphale leaned in closer, "Crowley you know if you wanted a backrub you could have just asked." Crowley smirked.

"It really is sore," he said, "It's always sore. But you make it better."

"How long have your wings been bothering you?" Aziraphale asked, seeming to forget Crowley's attempt at tricking him.

"Since the fall."

The hands stopped, and Crowley shifted to try and get Aziraphale to continue. When that didn't work, he turned to see his angel with a pained expression on his face.

"Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale looked on the verge of tears. "I didn't know! I'm so sorry. Does it hurt a lot?"

"Woah, angel, no need to look so distressed," Crowley held up his hands, "It's just a little ache, no big deal. I'm okay, I promise." Aziraphale nodded, but didn't seem convinced.

Then he did something they'd been doing a lot more of lately: he hugged him. Crowley was surprised at first, and then he wrapped his arms around Aziraphale and pulled himself as close as he could be. Aziraphale smelled sweet, he always smelled sweet. And Crowley…well, Crowley wasn't too fond of sweet things (he took his coffee black and his tea white, and he always scraped the icing off of cake) but Aziraphale was different. Crowley loved the way Aziraphale smelled.

"I love you," the angel said.

"I know," Crowley said back. But what he meant was: I love you too. Lucky for him Aziraphale had been around him for six millennia and could read between the lines.

"I have a secret," Azirapahle confessed, "I am ever so glad you were in the garden that day. Even if you did cause humanity's first sin…"

"Yeah, well," Crowley smirked, "I needed a conversation starter."

"You what?" Aziraphale looked ready to scold him until he realized, "You-you tempted them just so you could talk to me?"

"More or less," Crowley shrugged. "I was told to cause trouble, and it just so happened to be the perfect way to talk to the guardian angel of Eden. You're not gonna freak out and blame yourself for the whole fruit incident, are you?"

"No," Asiraphale said, "Actually, I'm kind of flattered."

"What?"

"You made humanity what they are, you gave them free will," he smiled, "All just to talk to me."

"Yeah," Crowley blinked, "Yeah. I guess I did."

"You're wonderful!" Aziraphale wrapped his arms back around Crowley. "You are absolutely wonderful."

"That's right, just make my day," Crowley said sarcastically, except this time he actually didn't mind at all. This time it actually did make his day—not that he'd ever tell Aziraphale that. He had to keep up some of his demonic image, if only because he had worked so hard on it all those years ago.

They stayed like that for a few moments more before Crowley started to get uncomfortable. He squirmed a little in Aziraphale's arms, and the angel loosened his grip. Crowley sat back, hands fidgeting in his lap, and he tried very hard to keep his composure on the outside (although truly he was so absolutely smitten with the angel across from him that he could barely keep up his facade of being "oh so much cooler than everyone else in the room").

Aziraphale smiled lovingly and Crowley was almost sick. He wanted to hate the way Aziraphale smiled at him, and made him feel like Heaven was right here. He wanted to hate it because he knew deep down that he didn't deserve it. Deep down he knew it couldn't last because of what he is, and what he is not. And what he is not is an angel [anymore]. He's not even close enough to human to try and replicate the love Aziraphale constantly expels from every cell in his body.

But he didn't hate it. He loved it more than everything. And Crowley wanted more than anything to be able to return it.

"Crowley," Azirpahale spoke softly, "Why do you look so sad?" It took him a moment.

"I just," Crowley couldn't gather his words. And even once he did, he wasn't sure he actually wanted to say them. "I'm just…I'll never be enough for you. I couldn't possibly—I'm just _me_, and that could never be enough."

(And suddenly it all made sense to Aziraphale, all of the running and drinking and self deprecating jokes and taking it all out on his plants. It all clicked into place. Aziraphale didn't miss a beat.)

"Oh, but my dear, don't you see?" He said, cupping Crowley's face, "You have always been enough—for the past six thousand years, and for six thousand more and the six thousand after that."

"But—" Crowley made a choking noise, "But—but I _fell_. I fell and I'll never be able to take that back and I'll never be able to give you what you want, and how can I possibly be enough for you when I'm not even enough for myself?" Aziraphale's heart just about broke.

"Crowley, dear," the angel whispered, "Sometimes, dare I say, sometimes Heaven is wrong. Not a lot, in fact almost never. But I can tell you this: they were wrong about you."

If Crowley breathed he would have stopped then. If his heart had a beat it would have stopped. The world stopped, whether do to Aziraphale or just perception he'd never know. Before, when the angel had told him that he was forgiven Crowley almost threw up in his mouth right then. But now, he'd give almost anything to hear those words.

"You…forgive me?"

"I forgave you a very long time ago." Aziraphale smiled, "Even if I wasn't an angel I would have forgiven you. Now you just have to forgive yourself." That was impossible, Crowley knew. But he nodded for the sake of his best friend.

"Okay."

"Better?" Aziraphale asked.

"Better."

The one thing about the human race that Crowley has to give them credit for was that they had absolutely the worst timing of any being in the universe (followed very closely by angels). And maybe the universe and it's horrible sense of humor was partly to blame, but that didn't stop Crowley from actually hissing at the human who entered the bookshop.

"Hello?" The man spoke too loudly, "Is anyone here?"

"Oh, yes. I'll be right there." Aziraphale gave Crowley an apologetic look before shuffling out towards the man, presumably to indirectly find a way to kick him out.

So Crowley sat alone. And this completely mad idea popped into his head. It was so bonkers that he would have laughed out loud. For the first time since he fell, he felt the tiniest bit of regret that he couldn't pray. Because, by God, would a prayer come in handy right now. Crowley was severely out of practice so he doubted it would go down very well, but that didn't stop him from thinking. And that was very dangerous. A little voice in the back of his head reminded him that thinking was what got him into this mess in the first place.

But he just couldn't help it…

* * *

When Aziraphale came back, he resumed the grooming of Crowley's wings and they didn't bother to continue their conversation from before.

And neither of them mentioned how Aziraphale wasn't really an official angel anymore. Neither of them mentioned how they were not what they should be; and they were very very wrong for each other, but also very right. There was no need to mention how a demon like Crowley could never love Aziraphale in the way he wanted to, because they'd already done one impossible thing so why not two?

Because at the end of the day they were an absolute impossibility. They were the singularity at the center of the universe where all the laws ceased to exist, and only impossible things are left.

* * *

"You're not even chewing," Aziraphale scolded.

"Waste of time," Crowley says, shoving a sandwich into his mouth.

"You're going to choke."

"Am not."

It was always like this. The main difference to note between the two of them is as follows: Aziraphale eats for enjoyment, and Crowley eats so he doesn't feel left out. He couldn't care less about savoring or table manners or all those other things Aziraphale is always going on about. They didn't even need to eat food, and Aziraphales genuine like of the activity will continue to puzzle him for eternity.

"It's been…I don't know how many years but I will never get used to watching you eat like that," Aziraphale scoffed. "You're not even chewing."

"So you've said. But I will not apologize for being efficient," Crowley swallowed the last of his sandwich. "And I could do it a lot after if you'd let me unhinge my jaw—"

"No!" Aziraphale looked horrified.

"What?" Crowley made a face. "Humans aren't that observant you know, I bet they wouldn't even notice."

"Yes, but I would," the angel pointed out, "And that one time was quite enough for me. You're not a snake anymore, Crowley. Eat like a person, please."

"You've used that excuse on me before," Crowley said. "I won't fall for your pouting this time. You only get one of those a century and you used it up!"

"That is my favorite jacket and you know it," Aziraphale huffed. "Besides, you owe me for the emotional distress you caused that day. I thought I was going to be discorporated!"

"It was a paintball!"

"Oh don't give me that," Aziraphale said, "You were fooled too."

"I was not," Crowley bristled, "I was just playing along. You, however, were totally serious."

"Well," Aziraphale said, "I was also doing the playing along thing."

"Whatever you say, angel."

"Don't be cheeky."

"I'll do what I want."

(Neither of them had ever been any good at doing what they were told.)

Aziraphale gave him a look full of challenge, but also full of amusement. Crowley smiled. He waited for Aziraphale to finish his lunch, ordered a few more drinks. And, all in all, dinner was very good. Everything was good right now so Crowley just could not understand the icky feeling deep down that kept surfacing back up. There was no reason for him to feel uneasy. But he did.

The night went on. Once Aziraphale was finished with eating, they headed back to the bookshop per their routine. They drank too much alcohol, sobered up, and then drank too much again. Azirapahle read for a little bit, and read out loud to Crowley until they were both too exhausted to understand the words. Crowley stayed the night (obviously).

Aziraphale didn't sleep often, but he'd been doing more of it lately because Crowley loves it. So when Aziraphale had fallen asleep, Crowley very carefully removed himself from the arms of his angel and headed towards the door.

And not for the first time in his life, Crowley was off to a place he didn't belong.


	2. Your side, our side

**Chapter 2: your side, our side**

For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways -psalm 91:11

It was sometime between three or four a.m and Crowley was in some place he should not be doing something he should not do.

When he first walked into the church he noticed his feet didn't burn as much, he thought he must be getting used to it. He was probably the most unholy thing that had ever entered this church, and probably ever will. Still, he walked all the way up to the altar, then he knelt on his knees and then—

Well, it had been a very long time since he'd done this, and Crowley wasn't exactly sure how to continue. He didn't really need a greeting, right? How did he know if anyone was even listening? _Ah, screw it_, Crowley thought, _it'll get through_.

"Look," he began, "I know I don't have any right to be here, but you kinda owe me. I made the stars for you so now…now you have to do something for me—and it's more for the angel, anyway. So if that helps, you don't have to do anything for me, just do it for an angel of yours." He pauses, half expecting Metatron to come down and smite him. And when that doesn't happen he figures it's because no one's listening.

Crowley keeps talking anyway.

"I need something," he says, "I need a second chance. And I've got no right to ask for that but I really, really need you to just do this for me."

"_And why should I do anything for you?_" A voice spoke that Crowley hadn't heard in a very long time.

"Weren't you listening? You owe me," he argued. "I gave you the stars and all those pictures and stories and, well, either you do this for me or I'm taking them back." That was a ridiculous thing to say but Crowley didn't care.

"_Take them back_?"

"Yes," Crowley sounds braver than he feels. "I will take my stars back."

"_Crowley, I do not think you understand_—"

"Oh, I understand." One really shouldn't interrupt God when They are speaking but Crowley is ever so bad at following the rules. "And, look, I know angels aren't supposed to ask questions, and my curiosity is bad or whatever. I get it. I'm fallen. I messed up. But I need to be able to love Aziraphale the way he loves me, and the way I am right now I can't give him that and it's not fair!" Crowley felt like crying (and he would be the first one to tell you that that is something he does not do).

"I know I'm not good," Crowley lowered his head, "But I _need_ this. I need it for him. I want to be good for him." There was silence. And Crowley thought he was about to get a serious divine reprimand but then—

"_Do you know why you don't make a bad demon?_"

"What?" Crowley looked up, "I…no."

"_Because you are good_."

"Well I did use to be an angel," he said, "Maybe some of it stuck around."

"_No_," They said, "_You would have been good even if you weren't an angel, because you were built that way._"

"Wasn't good enough to stay in Heaven though, eh?" Crowley rubbed his temples. "And the point of you telling me this is…"

"_The point is_," They said, "_I made a mistake_."

Silence.

"Pardon?"

"_You should not have fallen_," They said, "_You broke the rules. You questioned Me. But that does not mean you are bad_. _Heaven just wasn't a good fit for you._" Crowley didn't dwell on that last bit.

"That seems to be a pattern," he muttered. "So…what are you saying?"

"_That you are something good. Something not particularly angelic or demonic…something in between_." Crowley wrinkled his nose.

It was quite ironic when he thought about it. He and Aziraphale had pretended to be something in between before—convinced Heaven and Hell that they were no longer wholly a demon or an angel anymore but something quite along the lines of both at the same time. It was an impossible lie that they had pulled off, and here he was now being told that maybe that's exactly what they were. That had they not switched places the same events would have transpired regardless. And Crowley had to laugh. Because that was absolutely the most ridiculous he'd ever heard in his entire existence (and believe me he's heard some crazy things in these past six thousand years).

But here he was. An impossible thing. Something in between. He wasn't an angel, but he wasn't really a demon either.

Then it clicked, and Crowley realized what exactly that meant.

"_The things you thought held you back do not_," God said, "_You are free_."

"Is that all?" Crowley asked. There was a pause.

Then They said something Crowley had waited almost his whole existence to hear, "_And I forgive you_."

(That was the straw that broke the camel's back.)

Crowley suddenly had tears falling from his eyes and he was taking gasping, unnecessary breaths. He brought his hands to his chest and squeezed his shirt and leaned so far forward that his forehead almost touched the ground. He had waited so long to hear those words that he almost forgot how much they meant. Crowley was sobbing uncontrollably now for the second time in these past six thousand years. And he wanted so bad to be in Aziraphale's arms.

Crowley wasn't sure whether or not he should say thank you, but openly expressing gratitude was never his thing so instead he said, "You can keep the stars." And then he was running back to the book shop, running back to Aziraphale. Because he had something he desperately needed to say.

And this time he could mean it with every bit of his existence.

The door to the bookshop was thrown violently open and Aziraphale had barely enough time to startle awake before Crowley had jumped onto the bed. He crawled up so that their noses were only inches apart. Aziraphale rubbed his eyes.

"Crowley, dear, is something—"

"I love you," Crowley interrupted. "I love you. I love you. I love you…"

"Crowley, is everything alright?" Aziraphale's eyebrows creased, "Why are you out of breath? What happened?"

"Nothing," Crowley shook his head. "I just…I really really love you." The angel smiled.

"I love you too," he said. "Are you sure everything is alright—you're eyes are red." Crowley smiled the widest smile Aziraphale had ever seen.

"I'm good," he took an exaggerated breath in. "Everything is good." Then he launched himself forward, wrapping his arms around the angel and burying his face in Aziraphale's neck. It took less than a second for Aziraphale to return the gesture.

After Crowley fell, all those thousands of years ago, it had been cold. He'd been shivering ever since. He'd lost his grace and love, and he had felt hollow and desperate and _cold_. Then Crowley had gotten used to it, as one does after upwards of six thousand years. And it wasn't until now that he realized how much he missed being warm.

Aziraphale was warm.

And Crowley didn't feel so empty. He didn't have that bone deep chill to him anymore. So he supposed, even though he wasn't any good at it, he should thank God for that.

(A few days later, when he opened his wings again, he'd notice that they didn't ache anymore; and he'd have another thing to thank God for.)

Everything was perfect, and Crowley didn't care if the universe was listening.

"Angel," he said. "Please don't let go."

"I won't," Aziraphale's reply was fast, confident. Crowley settles in the angels arms, relaxing for the first time in a very long time.

And they stayed like that. Neither of them had a very good concept of time, it was just a construct anyway so they'd never needed to try and understand it from the human side. So it could have been hours or minutes or days that Crowley stayed wrapped in Aziraphale's arms. Aziraphale could tell the difference too. He felt the warmth. He could feel it in Crowley, the grace that only angels should have. He took a guess where the demon had snuck off to that night.

Aziraphale unfolded his wings and wrapped them around the two of them, closing him and Crowley off from everything else. And for that one moment, they were all that there was—they were all that mattered. It was because of this right here that the world was not allowed to end. It was because of this right here that to Aziraphale Heaven would always be missing something.

This right here was all that mattered to either of them.

They were something impossible. They were something the universe had never seen before, a product of celestial and human and personal circumstances. Something new. Something that would never exist again. Aziraphale and Crowley were not what they thought, or what they had spent the majority of their lives on earth trying to become, they were (and maybe always had been) something in between.

And despite all the mess with Heaven and Hell, God didn't care one bit. In fact, it made Them smile.


	3. Milk and honey

**Chapter 3: milk and honey**

and He has brought us to this place and has given us this land, a land flowing with milk and honey -Deuteronomy 26:9

"You disgust me," Crowley growled. "You're a disappointment, a disgrace to your kind. How dare you exist."

He knew the plants were mocking him. They grew unevenly and had spots even after all the warnings he gave them. They just weren't good enough. Aziraphale was coming for dinner and his plants were in the worst shape they'd ever been in, Crowley thought (though in fact, they were the most beautiful in all of London and were in top condition).

He was so wrapped up in telling his plants to "grow better you free loaders this isn't a charity" that he didn't register the three knocks on the door, or the approach of the angel behind him.

"Crowley, dear," Aziraphale said, "What on earth are you doing?" Crowley nearly jumped out of his skin.

"They're a disgrace, angel!" Crowley pointed at the offending plant, "Look at that spot—I've _told_ them how to grow properly and they just…they _disappoint_ _me_!"

"Dear boy, maybe just step away for a moment," Aziraphale placed a hand on Crowley's shoulder.

"They are disappointments!" Crowley said through gritted teeth, "They never grow right."

"Oh, well, I think they're lovely."

"Don't tell them that!" Crowley shouted. Then he whirled back to glare at the plant, "You're not worthy of praise you horrid thing."

"Okay, let us just step into the other room," Aziraphale was practically dragging Crowley away.

"They don't grow properly!"

"I know, dear. I know."

It took three cups of tea, biscuits, and more alcohol than should be allowed at this time in the afternoon before Crowley had calmed down. Aziraphale ran a hand through Crowley's dark hair. "You know, dear, I really don't see what you're so upset about. They are quite lovely plants."

"I know," Crowley sighed, "You just can't tell them that. They might get a big head." Aziraphale didn't really understand, so he just shrugged and continued combing through Crowley's hair with his fingers.

It was now well into the winter months. And since Crowley retained some of his cold-blooded traits he was rather less than fond of the cold weather. So they had been spending most of their time inside. Neither of them minded much. There were no ducks, and no reason to go to the park. And snow covered very bit of everything so they couldn't even sit on a bench for long unless they wanted to have their trousers wet for the rest of the day.

So they spent their time in Crowley's flat; or Aziraphale's bookshop; or hopping from restaurant to restaurant trying to find a place holder for the foods that they liked but were out of season now.

The Ritz was still in their routine, though. That never went out of season.

Anyhow it didn't really matter what they did because Crowley had been happy for an extended period of time and he was starting to wonder why he'd ever been sad in the first place. His head was resting in Aziraphale's lap, the angel running a hand through his hair and rubbing circles on his back. It was calm, neither of them really having anything in particular to say. So they sat there quietly instead.

And it was good.

It was so incredibly good that sometimes Crowley felt overwhelmed and very much like he was going to cry. They'd be tears of joy, of course, because he was happier than anyone else on the planet (tied with Aziraphale, obviously).

Nonetheless deep down, Crowley couldn't help but feel the tiniest bit scared—scared that the universe would take this away from him. And sure, he had lived for thousands of years in misery, but after this taste of…whatever it was, he didn't think he could go back. Crowley was sure that if somehow this all disappeared, then he would discorporate. He was so very afraid that this wouldn't last forever and he couldn't bear it not to because he knew how long forever was and without this _right here_ he would never make it.

He pressed himself further into Aziraphale's stomach.

"Good?" Aziraphale asked.

"Good." Crowley nodded, then added, "Please keep doing that."

Aziraphale smiled and continued to play with Crowley's hair. He was rather enjoying this domestic thing they had going on, and maybe it was all the time around the humans but he couldn't for the life of him imagine something better. Crowley was the end of the line. The universe ended with him, Aziraphale's universe did anyway. And so while Crowley was spiraling to himself, Aziraphale was very deep in thought about how the world had changed and would continue to do so and how he didn't really mind so long as he could have this.

He decided that he didn't really care how the world changed because he and Crowley would stay the same.

Aziraphale listened as Crowley's breathing evened out, he tilted his head towards the sky. "Thank you," he mouthed. Then he kissed Crowley's forehead and let his own eyes slip shut.

* * *

In all honesty, it was Aziraphale who knew first. He was clever, and he always cared a little more about human social cues than Crowley did. So he was the first one to know they were friends; he was the first one to know they were in love. Ironically, it was Crowley who accepted it first; he chose a side first. Aziraphale had been afraid for so long that their relationship would get Crowley killed. He was more afraid of losing what they had rather than it being unrequited (because he knew it was).

But then they'd saved the world. And he relaxed. And since he'd known for a few hundred years exactly what they were, now that he had a moment to himself he was finally able to accept it. Aziraphale finally let go of his fear because now he was untouchable, nothing could [permanently] hurt Crowley.

So Aziraphale had known first. But for obvious reasons he'd let Crowley believe that he went too fast for him—that Aziraphale hadn't been the first one to dream about what they could be. Not that it really mattered all that much anymore.

Heaven couldn't get to either of them and Hell never scared him anyway.

* * *

Later that night they decided to go for a walk, because neither of them could remember the last time they'd left the flat. It was cold, of course. And Crowley naturally hadn't brought a jacket. Even though the weather didn't completely bother him, he figured this was the perfect way to get Aziraphale to give him his coat—a little temptation was long overdue.

Crowley shivered, and when that didn't receive an immediate response from Aziraphale, he shivered again and took a shuddering breath in.

"It's colder out than I thought," Crowley chattered, wrapping his arms around himself dramatically. Aziraphale glanced at him and smiled like he could fix all the problems on earth (which he probably could).

"Oh, here. Allow me, my dear," Aziraphale took off his coat and placed it around Crowley's shoulders.

It had been a trick of course. Aziraphale knew this. But as much as Crowley loved wearing Aziraphales clothes, Aziraphale enjoyed himself just as much, if not a little bit more, seeing Crowley wearing his oversized coats. So of course he'd readily handed over his fluffy coat that he didn't need and had planned to give to Crowley the whole time. They were both very good at tricks. After six thousand years around humans one picks up a thing or two about situation manipulation (both thought themselves experts and the other oblivious, and they were both only half right).

It was almost Christmas, so London was decorated with lights, and all the shops were playing those century old songs that got stuck in your head clear until March. And even though Crowley had pretended to be dragged into the outdoors by Aziraphale, he really didn't mind all that much. He might even go so far as to say that he kind of liked walking around during the holidays. Besides the weather, he was rather fond of the season—he liked the colors.

He wanted so badly to sweep Aziraphale off his feet and hug him a million times and kiss him a million more…but he didn't. Crowley didn't partly because even though they had been moving forward in their relationship he was still a little afraid. And partly because he didn't want to scare Aziraphale by going too fast. Sure they'd kissed before, but it had been quick, more like a greeting or a goodbye than a show of affection.

And Crowley wanted very badly to be affectionate towards Aziraphale. Neither of them got anything close to love or kindness from their [former] sides, so they had a lot of catching up to do. Crowley was trying his best to go slow but he was never very good at speed limits.

(Little did he know Aziraphale never cared much for them either.)

"Are you warmer now?" Aziraphale asked.

"Huh? Oh, yes."

"You still seem a little cold," the angel said. He tugged on Crowley's arm and laced their fingers together. Crowley could feel his face heat up so he pulled his scarf up. Aziraphale hummed, "Good?"

"Good."

Aziraphale was smiling and, after getting of the initial shock of getting to hold Aziraphale's hand in the middle of the street, Crowley smiled too. Even though they had been with each other since Eden, for some reason tonight felt like the very first night that they were near each other.

Heaven and Hell had made them feel a million miles apart and for the first time Crowley and Aziraphale felt like they were finally standing side by side—they were finally in the same place.

Crowley moved a few centimeters closer to Aziraphale. Then a few more until their shoulders touched. He glanced at the angel and when he saw no distress he relaxed. Aziraphale seemed to be more comfortable with their relationship. He didn't shy away from hugs and hand holding or anything else that blatantly expressed to people that they were a couple. So Crowley thought for a brief moment that it might be okay to pick up the pace a little.

Aziraphale presses a soft kiss over Crowley's snake tattoo. "How about we stop for something to eat?"

"Anything you want, angel," he nodded, letting Aziraphale lead him to a small cafe.

Aziraphale ordered a dessert and Crowley drank champagne. Their conversation was light, they didn't linger too long on one particular topic. There was a little girl a few tables behind them that was chatting excitedly about Christmas and Santa and everything in between. Crowley couldn't help but smile.

"Crowley, you're staring," Aziraphale said.

"I am not."

"Yes you are," he set his fork down, "You've always had a soft spot for kids."

"Not I haven't."

Aziraphale didn't even try to look convinced. Crowley frowned.

"Listen, it's just that—"

"Excuse me," the little girl tapped Crowley on the knee. "Here." She handed him a little piece of paper folded in half—a Christmas card she had made with the crayons at her table.

"What's this?" He asked anyway.

"It's to say Happy Christmas," she smiled.

"Ah, well, thank you," Crowley said, "And Happy Christmas." He looked down at the card. It had two angels holding hands. He smiled.

She handed one to Aziraphale as well. "My mom says that I should wish everyone a happy Christmas because you never know who might be an angel in disguise. Did you know that angels come around this time of year and that's why everyone is super happy."

"Oh really?" Aziraphale looked shocked. "How many do you think?"

"Lots and lots!" She nodded, then she turned to Crowley and leaned in close like she was going to tell him the most important secret ever. "Did you know that if you find a Christmas angel and you wish them a happy Christmas then they will go back to Santa and tell him all about you? And then you will be on the good list for your whole entire life!" Crowley smirked.

"Well that explains what we're doing here then." He pulled out a red envelope from his jacket that hadn't been there a second ago, and handed it over. Her eyes lit up.

"Is it from—" she lowered her voice, "—_Santa_?"

"Of course."

"Then you two are—"

"Shh," Crowley put a finger to his lips. "Happy Christmas."

"Happy Christmas!" She squealed and ran back to her mother. When Crowley spun back around Aziraphale was looking at him, and there was something in his eyes Crowley had never seen before.

"You're staring," he mused.

"I know," the angel smiled. "That was nice."

"Well, you know," Crowley shrugged. "Kids."

Crowley finished another glass of champagne, then they paid the check. Aziraphale took Crowley's hand again as soon as they were outside. And Crowley took a few steps closer so that there was barely any space between them.

They walked a little bit more until Crowley's fingers had gone numb (but there was absolutely no way he was going to let go of Aziraphale's hand). They walked until Aziraphale's nose was red from cold. Then they came to a street that had lights strung between the buildings, and at the front was an angel. The wings were spread like the angel was in mid flight. Aziraphale grinned.

"What beautiful lights," he said. Crowley nodded.

They both had the same idea at the same time and, before anyone on the street could notice, they both had their wings spread wide. Then seconds later they were above London. It was cold up here too, but the wind in their feathers felt much too good. It had been too long since they'd done this.

Crowley slowed his pace so he could fly next to Aziraphale.

Light pollution had always been something Crowley was less than fond of—got in the way of his stars, you see—but he had to admit that Aziraphale looked wonderful bathed in the light from London. So, in that case, he didn't mind so much that the stars couldn't be seen that well. He wasn't looking at them anyway.

"Angel," Crowley looked over at him, "Could you come here please?"

As soon as Aziraphale was within arms reach, Crowley tucked his wings and wrapped his arms and legs around the angels torso. The wind slipped beneath them and they began to fall. Once Aziraphale recovered from his surprise, he hugged Crowley tight to his chest and tried to keep them steady. His white wings shifted with the air currents and it was nowhere close to easy, but Aziraphale didn't let go.

This was, of course, another trick by Crowley. All he had to do was ask for a hug, but where is the fun in that?

After a few moments, Crowley pried himself from Aziraphale's grip, and opened his black wings so they could fly side by side again. Aziraphale sighed.

"Crowley, what were you thinking?" The angel didn't seem surprised by his stunt, maybe just slightly disappointed in the childishness of it.

"I wanted a hug," he shrugged.

"That was dangerous, my dear."

"No it wasn't," Crowley smirked. "This is."

He dove down, catching Aziraphale by surprise yet again. Then he put his hands on either side of Aziraphale's face and kissed him. And it was different than all the ones before. This was the type of kiss that should have been impossible for beings like them—but Crowley was thanking God that it wasn't. They fell for a few eternal seconds, lips pressed together as they plummeted towards the earth. Then Crowley pulled back, grinned a rather snake-like grin, and flew ahead.

His angel took a little longer to get a hold of himself. Once he was flying steady again, Crowley slowed his pace to match.

Aziraphale glared at him, but there was no heat behind it. His face was red, and Crowley couldn't tell if it was from embarrassment, adrenaline, the cold, or a mix of all those things. Aziraphale seemed to hold his breath for a few moments, then he smiled a type of devious smile Crowley didn't think he was capable of.

"Crowley, dear."

"Yes, angel?"

"You can go faster now."


End file.
